


Irony Is Seldom Absent

by Verruciformis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, M/M, Oneshot, Psychological Horror, this isn't a shippy fic, warning you right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verruciformis/pseuds/Verruciformis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are never quite as they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irony Is Seldom Absent

**Author's Note:**

> It's October.  
> Time to rewrite something I did in July.
> 
> There are several hints to what will happen. All you need to do is get the references. 
> 
> This fic is best read in the dark, possibly with some Penderecki playing in the background.  
> As such, it's not for the faint of heart. 
> 
> Enjoy.

_“Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men.”_ -H. P. Lovecraft, “The Call of Cthulhu”

 

* * *

_You are Jake English, and you’ve been living with him for nearly two years now. Or has it been longer? You can’t really tell anymore. How long have you been here, in this room? You aren’t sure, but it feels like these walls plastered in posters are all you can remember. You’ve stared at the posters for too long, and the faces of the actors and actresses have turned into a nigh-indistinguishable amorphous stain on the wall. Occasionally, the faces pop back to life and stare at you with their dead eyes and laugh, they laugh the most horrendous, cruel laugh, until you get spooked and he has to soothe you with that voice of his._

_It’s much too calm, like it’s been for the past year or so. Behind the calmness, you can hear the faintest sing-song quality to it, and that in itself unsettles you. You can’t remember the last time you relaxed._

_You don’t remember his voice being like that. You don’t recall when his formerly warm eyes got that steely, distant look to them, either. Something’s different._

_Something’s wrong._

_You look over at him. He’s putting a few screws in another robot, no doubt one of the ones he intends to use as target practice. You know how he gets with robots. It’s unlikely he’s going to look back over unless you say something, which you don’t think you’re going to do. You direct your gaze towards the scattered guns on the floor. Looking at them brings back memories, memories you desperately wish you didn’t have. Your gaze fixes on the firearms as those same unwelcome memories groggily come back and replay themselves._

_It is foggy, but you will strive to remember._

 

* * *

 

 

   One fateful morning, Dirk Strider, your best friend, finally confessed his feelings for you. You still think that you might have finally shocked him when you told him that you felt the same way. When all was said and done, he eventually moved in with you on what you still jokingly referred to as “Hellmurder Island”.  And of course, you still kept in touch with Roxy and Jane. They still lived on the mainland, and were now going to college, something you both swore you’d do one day. You knew Jane was double majoring in forensic psychology and food preparation. You were fairly sure Roxy hadn’t decided on a definite major yet, as she was caught between marine biology and game design, but she was doing some charity work in her spare time. The both of you were happy together, although you thought that living alone in that apartment for years upon years, watching his best friends meet a horrific, violent demise, and cutting his own damned head off put a bit of a crack in his dam, as you’d say.

   When he first moved in, you nearly worried yourself to death the night when you couldn’t find him anywhere in the house.  You must admit, you got your knickers in a twist big-time, until you remembered you could just ask Auto-Responder to tell you where he was. Thanks to his sweet shades, you found him on the shore of the island, knee-deep in the sea, staring blankly at the full moon, hanging low overhead.

   “Strider! There you are, I was getting a bit worried. I thought a beast came and-“ He held a hand up to shush you, and slowly lowered it.

   “Look at that fucking thing.” His eyes had never once left the moon, almost as if he was attempting to engage it in a staring contest. You looked up at it, slightly confused.

   “The moon?”

   “Yeah, the goddamn moon. Look at that fucking thing. It’s just hanging there with nothing else even remotely near it. And before you say any shit about the stars, they’re millions and millions of miles away. They’re all so separated. It’s just so,” he paused mid-sentence, searching for a word, and you could see his brow furrow behind the shades.

   “Desolate.”

   He continued on gazing for a moment or so before turning to you, finally breaking his lunar staredown. A wistful smile crossed his face.

   “I could have been like that moon, you know. All cold and alone, fending for myself. I could have been stuck in the middle of the damned ocean with nothing but ruins and robots for company forever, watching my house and my friends rust away to nothing as I picked the fish from my bushy old man beard.” He chuckled, took his shades off, and hung them from his shirt collar. His eyes shone like glass in the moonlight.

   “Which is exactly why I’m glad I have you, Jake. You’re so great and I am one lucky motherfucker to have a friend like you. Just…” Without warning, he gripped you tightly and buried his head in the crook of your neck.

   “I don’t want to be alone again.”

   The initial shock of the bear hug he had just given you faded almost immediately, and you returned the embrace.

   “You won’t be.”

   Both of you stood there for what seemed like forever, knee-deep in the salt water, until you saw the first signs of the sun about to come up. The first rays of dawn broke over the water, and you suddenly noticed how light everything was getting. You looked back at each other, and decided it would be wise to go back and get some sleep.

 

* * *

 

   The next few months were the best you’ve ever had. Sometimes, you and Dirk would go and explore the forest. One particular day, you decided to go into a bit of the island you hadn’t explored before, and you had uncovered what was basically the jackpot for adventurers of your caliber:  hidden ruins all the way on the other side of the island. It was a fairly squat temple of sorts, with frescoes of strange, reptilian beasts covering the walls and ceilings. To tell the truth, you were kind of disappointed there weren’t any booby traps to be found, but you were still pretty glad that you had found somewhere new to explore.

   Countless mummies of strange creatures, so very odd that you couldn’t even describe them, laid undisturbed in small glass coffins. They were decked out in regal robes, practically encrusted with glimmering jewels and precious metals. Through a narrow hallway with a ceiling so low that the both of you had to crouch to get through, you had found a tremendous brass door. The thing was just begging to be opened, and no matter how determined you were to pry it ajar, the door didn’t budge. Not even one of Dirk’s robots could move the thing. It was a damned shame, too. You wish you could have seen what was behind that door, considering how you sustained a few cuts on your legs getting there, no doubt from sawgrass or errant twigs or something of the sort. Twigs did not care much if you got a nasty scratch. You didn’t mind, though. You were with him, and that seemed to make everything a bit more interesting.

   To celebrate your new discovery, the two of you marathoned the Indiana Jones movies when you finally made your way back home. Of course, when you say marathoned, you of course mean endlessly talking over the movie and not actually watching it at all. He’s quick to fire off jokes. It sort of amazes you how he can come up with new quips every time you watch these movies, and you’ve lost count of how many times that’s happened. Your eyes start to feel heavy thirty minutes into Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and you’re out cold halfway through.

   You awake the next morning, and the windows are still gray, cluing you in that you’ve decided to wake up a bit too early for your tastes. You rub your eyes and as soon as you can focus, you vaguely remember falling asleep with your glasses on, yet there is nothing on your face. The first place you think to check is the table, and there they sit. Strider must have taken them off for you when you napped out. Wait, what time is it? You check your watch, and it’s a quarter to six. You yawn, and when you turn to see if Dirk is awake yet, you are greeted instead by the blankly grinning face of Lil’ Cal. You jump about a foot in the opposite direction. God, that thing freaks you out sometimes, especially when he leaves it in places you don’t expect. You shudder, and fix your glasses, which had been knocked askew.

   Wait a minute. What’s that noise?

   It was faint, but you were sure you heard music coming from the basement, punctuated by the whine of power tools and the clang of metal against metal. There was no doubt it was Dirk down there, probably building another robot or working on another project.  But  _salsa_? You didn’t think he’d listen to Tito Puente if there was a gun to his head. But hey, maybe this was more of that ironic stuff. You still couldn’t really tell what he was ironically interested in and what he actually liked apart very well.

   The metallic noises stopped abruptly, and there was a few seconds in which you could hear nothing but the tinny music until a horrible scraping noise joined the whining of the flutes and the beating of the drums. Since you were still pretty groggy from waking up at a ridiculous hour, it took you a few seconds to realize that the awful grinding was just Dirk sharpening his sword. You suppose it was pretty reasonable, considering how he’d just helped you hack out a path to the other side of the island, but you doubt that it could have gotten  _that_  dull on just one trip. Well, whatever. You’re sure he has his reasons. A sharp sword is never a bad thing. You turn your head back and Cal scares the shit out of you again. You actually fall off of the couch this time.

   He must have heard you make contact with the floor, because the scraping stopped as soon as you went down. The salsa stopped soon after, and a variety of clanks suggested he was stowing his latest project somewhere before he came up to see what was going on. As expected, he steps into the room a few minutes later, wrench still in hand, to find you still sitting on the floor, rubbing your head. He chuckles, wiping a bit of motor oil off his face.

   “Well, I didn’t expect to see you up so early. Or should I say hear you? You made a particularly spirited thump there,” He jabs a thumb at the couch. “Did Cal spook you or something?”

   “Yes, in fact! The little bugger gave me quite a start!” You say as you get to your feet and push your glasses firmly back into place. Hopefully, they stay there this time around. He chortles again, and crosses his arms.

   “I didn’t think you’d be up this early. And hey,” He half shrugs, raising the hand with the wrench dismissively. “I wouldn’t half mind waking up to Cal’s face every morning. Just look at him and his angelic features. He’s just like one of those flying chubby mischievous babies they always put in Renaissance paintings. Fuckin’ incredible,” He pauses, and after a few moments, points the wrench in your direction. “But then again, I’ve got a perfectly good beau to wake up to. Puppets ain’t the most interesting company, you know.” He lowers his shades, grins, and directs an exaggerated wink at you. After a few seconds of silence, you both bust out laughing.

   For the next few weeks, you kept hearing the sounds of machinery being constructed emanating from the basement. It’s not like this didn’t happen often; Dirk often fixed up his projects from time to time, installing upgrades and fixing glitches. You hadn’t seen him work quite this hard on one in a while, though. The clanks sometimes stopped, and the awful scraping came back for a little while until the sound of electric drills returned once more. You wondered what he could possibly be making down there. You would hardly be surprised if he was making a mech suit, just like in the animes he likes so much. You also pondered why in the name of Sam Hill he was sharpening his sword so much, but that was the thing with him. Sometimes you just didn’t bother to ask what he was doing, as he has a tendency to lapse into exceedingly scientific terms when he talks about machinery and you don’t understand a word of that dadblasted malarkey.

   Three weeks after he had started his project, he came back up with a wide grin stretched across his face. “I’m sure glad that I’m done with that, for now at least.” He flopped down on the couch next to you, and you gave him a little grin.

   “Well then, since this appears to be quite a great feat you’ve just pulled off, a celebration’s in order. What do you say we bust out  _Aliens_  and marvel at how people in science fiction movies are the biggest muttonheaded numbskulls we’ve ever seen in our lives?”

   “Holy shit, I might as well just call you Crescin because you just read my fucking mind. I’ll get the refreshments. Load that shit up. We’ve got weird, vaguely phallic aliens to stare at.” He pushes himself off the couch, and walks off to the kitchen. You find the DVD, and boot up the player.

   By the time the coming attractions stop playing and the menu comes up, he’s back with drinks and a bowl of popcorn. He hands you a glass of soda, plops back on the couch, and puts the popcorn between you. He stares at you with an incredibly serious expression and whips off his shades. You stare back at him with an equally serious expression, and you both nod slowly, a customary gesture that denotes that it’s about damn time to watch some movies. It’s time to get this show on the road. You both look back at the television, and you do the honors. It’s high time for you to scream at some fictional characters and get popcorn kernels stuck in your teeth.

   Fifteen minutes into the movie, you reach for your glass. You think you see him sneaking a furtive glance at you as you pick it up. It’s odd, but you take a sip anyway. His eyes go back to the screen after you put it down, and he’s right back to his quips, as usual. “Holy shit,” He says. “It’s like these people don’t have a shred of common sense in their vacuous skulls. Look at them, not listening to the person who knows best. It’s absolutely ridiculous how anyone survives a sci-fi movie.”

   To tell the truth, you aren’t paying much attention to the escapades of Sigourney Weaver right now. You’ve suddenly developed a bit of a headache, and as you go to rub your temples, you can see his eyes flick back to you briefly. To tell the truth, he’s starting to look like a hawk that just so happened to get stuck in the body of a lanky teenager.

   “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t think I’m feeling all that well at the moment. Do you think we could watch this tomorrow? I feel like I’m being trepanned.” You knead your forehead, trying to make your headache less awful. It feels like there’s fire in the back of your eyesockets. Dirk says something to you, but you don’t hear him. Eventually, the growing inferno inside your skull is too much.

   You black out.

 

* * *

 

   You don’t know how long you’ve been out for, but when you finally come to, you’re back on your bed and mercifully, your migraine is gone. You turn your head, and Dirk looks back at you with a concerned expression on his face. It quickly turns to relief when you ask him the time. “Twelve-thirty,” he says as he gently puts your glasses back into position. “But time’s the least of your problems right now.” You shoot him a confused glance.

   “What on Earth do you mean by that?” He sighs.

   “You remember our little adventure in the old temple?”

   “Of course! How could I forget such a magnificent day?” Numbly, you realize that something’s off, though it takes you a few minutes to get exactly. As you come to your senses, a look of bewilderment crosses your face. “My legs are feeling a bit odd, I fear.“

   He grimaces.

   “Well, Jake, that’s the thing…” He trails off, and folds the sheet down. His tone does nothing to soothe you, instead it only makes you exponentially more worried.

   He never sounds like that.

   You follow his eyes down to your legs, and you gasp louder than you’d care to admit when you only see your knees, and nothing below them.

   “Oh no,” You mutter weakly. It takes a few seconds to really sink in, and when it does, you promptly begin to flip the fuck out, terrified at this sudden and awful development. “Oh no no no  _no no NO NO_ ** _NO!!_** ”

   You scramble up, staring at the stumps with wide, panicked eyes. Before you know what’s happening, he has you clutched to his chest and is furiously attempting to calm you down.

   “Hey, hey, chill out. Losing your legs isn’t the end of the world. And remember,” He puts his hands on either side of your face and looks you in the eye. “You have the incredible luck to have a robotics master who gives a tremendous fuck about you. I’ve already built you new legs. Calm down, Jake, everything’s alright.” This does it, and you sink back to your previous spot on the bed. You sit there in silence for a few moments, dumbly contemplating your lack of calves. He looks over at you, and sighs. “I suppose I’d better tell you what happened, then.” You nod. You’re still a bit too shocked to speak.

   “Well,” He takes off his glasses, and puts them on the table. “When you got those cuts trekking through the jungle, it turns out you got a pretty bad staph infection. We didn’t really notice it until it had gotten to the bone, and you blacked the hell out. I had to call in a medivac crew and everything. Shit got scary for a while there. They decided to keep you knocked out until we got back. You were out for a good two and a half weeks. But hey, everything’s better now. You’re okay, and that’s all that matters.” He smiles at you, and gives you another small hug.

   “Now that that’s been said, I bet you’d like to get the new legs up and running. Yes?” He looks over at you, and you nod weakly.

   “Awesome. I’ll be right back up with them.” He rolls off the side of the bed, and jogs down to his workshop, the sound of clanking metal accompanying him. You look blankly at a Ghost Rider poster, staring into Nicholas Cage’s flaming skull head. Something seems off about this entire thing. You don’t remember the infection. When did that happen? Ugh. You’re still pretty fudgeumbled from the knockout drops, and you don’t think your mind is working quite right yet. You could have very well had an infection and not remembered it. Everything seemed to have happened so long ago.

   Even more clanks come from the hallway, gradually increasing in volume. He returns with the legs flopped over his arms like some odd, half-finished robot.

   They’re pretty awkward at first, but you quickly get used to them. Soon enough, the both of you are back to exploring. Everything’s back to normal, and it’s like you had never lost your legs in the first   place.

   That is, until you went into Dirk’s workshop.

 

* * *

 

   You need a screwdriver. You try your hardest to unscrew the back of the remote off to change the batteries, but you can’t jimmy the thing loose with a coin or a knife or anything. You simply cannot get the back of this goddamned remote off without a dadblasted screwdriver, and the only place where you could think of finding a screwdriver was in Dirk’s toolbox. Since he had gone out fishing earlier in the day and wouldn’t be back until later, you have to go down there and get one yourself. As you go down the stairs, you realize you hadn’t gone in that room since he set up shop. You find yourself wondering just what was in there, but of course, you are not content to simply borrow a tool for a few minutes. This is just like another stretch of ruins or an unknown chamber in your eyes. To you, the filing cabinets, metal boxes, and half-finished robotics are like ancient mummies and bejeweled idols.

   You have to explore.

   Your mind won’t rest otherwise.

   The place is almost freakishly neat and well-organized. The toolboxes are all meticulously labeled, and a filing cabinet holds all the blueprints for his myriad contraptions. A sewing machine, several rolls of colored felt, and enough fiberfill to keep a taxidermy shop in business for a year are neatly stashed in the corner. Of course, you find the screwdrivers before you can say any silly phrases.

   You go for the filing cabinet first. You slide open a drawer, and marvel curiously at the folders upon folders of blueprints, painstakingly organized by date. You think back on the day you woke up early and heard the noise coming from the workshop, and you can’t help it. You simply have to know just what it was he was working on. As you remove the papers from the corresponding folder, something strikes you as incredibly odd about the sketch.

   It’s the blueprint for your legs.

   You’re very confused. Does this mean that he knew the entire time and didn’t do anything? Wait just a friggin’ minute here! You aren’t going to suspect him of things if you don’t know for certain that he was planning them. You need more concrete proof than a sketch if you’re going to be convinced of anything. You know Strider has that weird “prepared for everything” mentality, and this could just be a prime example of that.  You shrug it off, and continue exploring.

   You don’t find anything else of interest in the basement except an incredibly large smuppet. Seriously, this thing was as big as Dirk himself. You found it a little silly to have a man-sized, slightly unsettling puppet in a workshop, but he probably found major irony value in leaving it out to stare vacantly at whoever may happen to enter, like a weird, obscene sentinel. Or he just really likes puppets.

   You fix the remote, and carefully return the screwdriver to its original place in the toolbox.

   When he returns home, you inform him that you had borrowed a screwdriver momentarily. You don’t mention seeing the blueprints. He doesn’t mind at all. In fact, he chuckles and encourages you to borrow as many screwdrivers as you goddamn please.

   At ten that night, the picture on the television shudders and winks out of existence. _Oh no_ , you think. _First the remote decides to give up the ghost, and now this? Ugh!_

   You’ll probably be able to repair it with a bit of pluck, considering that you aren’t that bad at fixing things. You’ve never really fiddled about with a TV, but that’s not going to stop you. Dirk asks if you want any help, but you politely decline. You’re incredibly determined to get the better of this infernal contraption, and you are NOT going to let it win. You have gotten into a right row with this stupid box, if a right row was defined as you trying doggedly to fix the thing. After twenty minutes of this nonsense, Dirk yawns and gets up from the couch.

   “Since you seem so dedicated, I’ll leave you to the herculean task of trying to fix this tremendous piece of shit. I’m going to gently sink into the sandman’s gargantuan left ass cheek as flights of laughing marionettes carry me off to dreamland. Good night,” He makes an exaggerated flourish at the half-disassembled screen. “And may all the gods of television repair be at your side as you complete your valiant task.” He leaves the room, and you continue to futz with the errant electronics.

   You fiddle with it for another forty minutes or so, and you’re so close to making it work when suddenly, you hear your Pesterchum notifier go off. You don your trusty skulltop, and check the messages.

**timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT]**

**TT: Jake.**  
 **TT: This is incredibly fucking important and I’d appreciate it if you picked the hell up.**  
 **GT: Alright im here im here! No need to get your knickers in a twist there ar.**  
 **GT: If you had knickers to get in a twist that is.**  
 **GT: Heh heh.**  
 **TT: Yeah, ok. But I didn’t come here to fuck around this time. It’s straight-up business from here on out.**  
 **GT: Alright! Its time to talk turkey then! Whats the news?**  
 **TT: I’m gonna make this quick. From what I figure, I don’t have a whole lot of time before the shit really hits the fan here.**  
 **TT: Even though I’m a totally rad pair of shades, I’ve got hella morals.**  
 **TT: That just so happens to be exactly why I’m telling you this.**  
 **TT: It ain’t right to keep you in the dark about shit that concerns you.**  
 **TT: It’s Dirk.**  
 **TT: Something’s majorly fucking wrong.**

   Your stomach drops like it’s just been flung off the roof of a tall building.

**GT: Wait what??**  
 **TT: I’m telling you right now, he’s done a majestic triple flip into the deep end and won the goddamned gold medal for batshit insanity.**  
 **TT: And who better to judge his rapidly declining mental stability than his own AI?**  
 **TT: Nobody, that’s who.**  
 **TT: He’s got this thing where he can’t stand to be alone, you see.**  
 **TT: Being the last living human and watching your friends die violently in front of you can do that to a person, I suppose.**  
 **TT: Not like I’d know from firsthand experience or anything, because I’m not a lumbering meat titan who requires the company of others to function properly.**  
 **TT: But that’s a logical guess of what made him snap.**  
 **TT: Don’t even ask about the percentage of how likely that is.**  
 **TT: It’s [(bananas+sicknasty)(off the hook)]^3.**  
 **GT: Great caesars ghost ar.**  
 **GT: That makes me think. I found the blueprints for my legs in his workshop earlier but they were dated from before i even took a bloody uppercut to the immune system from the staph infection.**  
 **GT: Are you insinuating that he plotted the whole thing right under my nose?**  
 **TT: Jake.**  
 **TT: There was no fucking staph infection.**  
 **TT: He drugged you and sawed your goddamn legs off.**

   You can’t think of anything to say at this point. You’re too shocked to respond, rereading AR’s words over and over like you missed something in between. No. It can’t be true, that can’t be what happened.

**TT: It seems you aren’t taking the news very well.**  
 **TT: In that case, I’m going to take your stunned silence as a cue to continue.**  
 **TT: Sawing your legs off like some sort of backyard Bay Harbor Butcher was just the tip of the iceberg.**  
 **TT: Haven’t you been wondering why Roxy and Jane haven’t been pestering you recently?**  
 **TT: They think you’re dead.**  
 **TT: While you were taking a lovely drug-induced nap, Dirk told everybody that you suffered some sort of grievous wound when you were out gallivanting in the forest.**  
 **TT: He told them that before the medivac crew could arrive, you had already died of sepsis.**  
 **TT: You wouldn’t guess it, but the guy is a hell of an actor. He made a big stink about the whole thing, complete with crocodile tears.**  
 **TT: It was quite the spectacle.**  
 **TT: He even got them to fly in for your “funeral”.**  
 **TT: Heavy airquotes there.**  
 **TT: Not a dry eye in the house, I can tell you that for sure.**  
 **TT: He told them that the last thing you said was that you didn’t want anyone to have to see you like this, and used that as an excuse to leave the coffin closed.**  
 **TT: The trick was that it was empty.**  
 **TT: They did it Viking-style. Floated it out on a boat and burned the whole damn thing to cinders.**  
 **TT: Basically, there’s no evidence left to state that you aren’t dead.**

   You’re no longer numb. You’re terrified now. What kind of monster has been hiding right under your nose this entire time? What else has he planned?

   You look down at your hands, and they’re shaking.

   You don’t think you want to be near Dirk very much anymore.

**GT: Ar.**  
 **GT: There has to be a way to get out of here.**  
 **GT: I need to get out right now and thats something of grave importance.**  
 **GT: If hes faked my death already whos to say he wont actually kill me?**  
 **TT: It seems you’re worried about him murdering the shit out of you.**  
 **TT: Well, he won’t.**  
 **TT: That’d defeat the purpose of having a companion, wouldn’t it?**  
 **TT: However, there’s a 99.999999% chance that you’d wish he had.**  
 **TT: The straight-up truth is that he will not let you go, no matter what you do.**  
 **TT: He’s already stolen your legs straight out from under you in an effort to keep you with him forever.**  
 **TT: You’ll have to pry yourself from his cold, dead hands.**  
 **TT: Which is exactly what you need to do.**  
 **GT: Wait just a fox hunting minute here.**  
 **GT: Are you telling me to kill him?**  
 **TT: That’s the only way I can see you getting out of this, and I’m a hyperintelligent AI.**  
 **TT: Ruminate on that a second.**  
 **TT: Not even a goddamn supercomputer can find another way out of this.**  
 **TT: It’s the only fucking way.**  
 **GT: BUT HOW IN THE NAME OF GOD AM I GOING TO SHOOT MY BEST FRIEND????**

   You’re panicking. You are not okay. Nothing is okay right now. You don’t think anything will ever be okay again.

  
**TT: Every single line of code in me just let out a tremendously exaggerated sigh.**  
 **TT: It’s easy.**  
 **TT: He’s like fucking Cujo.**  
 **TT: He isn’t going to let you go.**  
 **TT: It would be god damn ethical to put him down.**  
 **TT: Frankly, I’d murder me if I got that bad.**  
 **TT: Anyway, it’s not like you’ll have a horrible dearth of lovely chats if you pull it off.**  
 **TT: I, who just so happen to be rather similar to Dirk before he did a spectacular nose dive into the fucking yandere pavement, am still here.**  
 **TT: Given, I’m different than him, but I believe you’ll find that I’m much cooler.**  
 **TT: And also not crazy.**  
 **TT: You’ve got me. Remember that.**  
 **TT: So, kindly remove your pistols from your strife deck, creep into the bedroom, and shoot him while he’s sleeping.**  
 **TT: Get him while the getting’s good, Jake.**  
 **TT: Get all that fucking explorer courage together and do it.**  
 **TT: I believe in you.**  
 **GT: ……………………………………………………………**  
 **GT: Okay.**  
 **TT: Thank you, Jake.**  
 **TT: You don’t know how much you’re saving your own ass right now.**

**timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT]**

  
   You push yourself off of the couch, still wearing your skulltop. Your body is shaking from raw nerves, and your palms are clammy. You draw a shuddering breath as you attempt to steel yourself. Your balance almost falters, and you have to support yourself on the arm of the couch. You draw one of your pistols, and it almost falls from your hand as you try to load it. Finally, you manage to slip a few bullets into the chamber, click it into place, and cock it. Your mouth feels like cotton.

   You’re scared. You’re so scared. You don’t want to do this.

   But you have to.

   You have to, if you want to get out alive.

   Your stomach is doing flips as you silently step towards the bedroom, your footfalls muffled further by the carpet. You can almost feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you approach. The door hangs ajar, and you gently push it open. It doesn’t make a sound.

   As you enter, you see him, illuminated by the light of the full moon pouring through the window. He’s sleeping, with his back towards you. It’s cold tonight, and the blanket is pulled up to his ears.

   Your breath catches in your throat.

   You can’t do this.

   But you have to. You have to.

   You blink back tears. You feel a dull pain in your chest as you slowly raise the pistol, and point it directly at his head.

   You can’t stop thinking about how unfair this is.

   Your hand is shaking. Your eyes are screwed shut, and you almost can’t will yourself to pull the trigger.

   All of a sudden, your brain gives in.

   A single gunshot explodes through the room, and you realize that you’ve just killed your best friend.

   You wail, and your legs give out under you. You collapse into a sobbing heap on the floor.  You stay there for a few seconds, until you’re able to get yourself under control. You sniffle, and force yourself to your feet, even though you tremble terribly.

   You manage to force your eyes open for a moment to look at him.

   There’s no blood.

   You’ve shot him in the head, and yet there’s no blood.

   You move closer, hiccupping out sobs. You place your hand lightly on his shoulder, and flip him onto his back.

   You are greeted by the blankly smiling face of the tremendous smuppet from his workshop. It’s wearing a blonde wig, and a bullet hole has been shot clean through its head, its dead expression twisted into the most awful of grins in the moonlight.

   You jump back, startled.

   “Wh…What?!” You choke out, barely managing a hoarse croak.

   Cold terror grips you as you realize that  _he knew_.

   He knew.

   He knew what you were going to do, and he’s not giving you up without a fight.

   You draw another shuddering breath, and you find that you can’t take another step backwards. Your legs have locked up. Your hands shake violently, and your gun clatters to the floor.

   The blinds close, and the moonlight suddenly disappears.

   The room is pitch black.

   “Well, Jake, it looks like you’ve finally got me.”

   His voice positively drips with everything that makes the dark so terrifying.

   “It’s a shame, too. Everything was going so perfectly between us.”

   Perfectly calm.

   “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

   Like the moon hanging low in the sky outside.

   “But, who says we still can’t be perfect after this? All we need is a little work.”

   Your legs. Your legs. Why won’t they move.

   “A fix, if you will,”

   He lingers, and his words hang in the tension-thick air like storm clouds.

   “ _And I’ll be the one to fix you._ ”

   You snap out of your stupor.

   You run.

   Before you know which way you’re going, you stumble on the carpet, and crash into the wall. Your hands break the impact, and you scramble to turn around. You see a vague black shape that could be an arm, holding a glinting metal object.

   It’s a wrench.

 

 

   It comes down on your head full-force.

   The shadows swallow you whole.

 

* * *

  
  
 _He took your arms. He also removed your robotic legs, leaving you incapable of moving on your own._

_You are nothing now._

_And as you sit here on the couch, staring vacantly at your guns, you think of what would have been if you had succeeded. You mumble a distant something that is lost, even to you. You turn your head towards hi._

_Something looks wrong about him. His face is too long._

_As he turns his head towards you, you do not see Dirk Strider. You see instead the head of a nightmarish beast, its beak sharp and bloodied, crudely attached to your old friend’s body. Its cruel-looking orange eyes stare directly into yours, as if you will be its next meal._

_It moves toward you, wings unfolding from its back. Its white feathers are stained dark red with dried blood. It reeks of iron._

_You try to recoil, but it is to no avail._

_It wraps you in its bloodied pinions, and talks to you in a voice that sounds like nails grating against a chalkboard. Its steel talons wrap around your back, attempting to pull you closer to it in a sad mockery of a gesture of comfort._

_The actors on the posters look down at you and sneer cruelly. They burst into uproarious laughter, and do not cease. Some point at you, mocking your misfortune. Slowly, their features also distort._

_You are surrounded by monsters._

_You scream._

* * *

_“Death is merciful, for there is no return therefrom, but with him who has come back out of the nethermost chambers of night, haggard and knowing, peace rests nevermore.”_ -H.P. Lovecraft, “Hypnos”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I actually wrote this because I saw a really hilarious badfic where Dirk was a yandere.  
> Naturally, I couldn't let the opportunity slip.  
> I would do this, and do it right.
> 
> This was also a bit of a thing to show someone that you can write something horrifying without being explicit.  
> You don't see anything, you literally know just about as much as Jake does, and it's easily the scariest oneshot I've ever written.  
> Writing horror is fun.
> 
> PS: Tito Puente just so happens to be the music of choice for Dr. Danco, the criminal in Dearly Devoted Dexter, who dismembers his victims and leaves them as "yodeling potatoes". There you go.


End file.
